


To Your Union

by aethyr



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst and Feels, Banter, Champagne, Dancing, F/M, Family Feels, Feels, Heartache, Helpless, M/M, Martha Manning - Freeform, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Shot, Sisters, So much heartache, The Schuyler Sisters, The story of tonight, Weddings, and insinuation, heartache all around, satisfied, with a smile on her face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 23:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11679561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aethyr/pseuds/aethyr
Summary: Angelica deduces everybody's secrets at the Schuyler-Hamilton wedding reception. Alexander breaks everybody's hearts. (The parts we didn't get to see in the "Helpless" / "Satisfied" / "The Story of Tonight" sequence.)*****Angelica Schuyler was not the life of this particular party. She stood next to an overflowing table at the side of the ballroom, watching her new brother-in-law sweep her sister in a wide arc around the dance floor. Eliza looked radiant, all graceful limbs and dark hair gleaming in the candlelight.Tomorrow, Alexander would return to his post. Tomorrow, all the handsome young men gracing the Schuyler household would melt into the woods, back into their encampments and fortifications. The British were coming, and it seemed like there was no end to them, the red-coated wrath of an empire.Tomorrow, Alexander might die."Tonight," thought Angelica, "let my sister have this."





	To Your Union

**Author's Note:**

> I've attempted to adhere to both the events of the musical and the events of history, with the former taking precedence where they conflict.

Angelica Schuyler was not the life of this particular party. She stood next to an overflowing table at the side of the ballroom, watching her new brother-in-law sweep her sister in a wide arc around the dance floor. Eliza looked radiant, all graceful limbs and dark hair gleaming in the candlelight.

Tomorrow, Alexander would return to his post. Tomorrow, all the handsome young men gracing the Schuyler household would melt into the woods, back into their encampments and fortifications. The British were coming, and it seemed like there was no end to them, the red-coated wrath of an empire.

Tomorrow, Alexander might die.

 _Tonight,_ thought Angelica, _let my sister have this._

“‘Twas a lovely speech,” said a dashing officer in a fine blue coat, interrupting her thoughts as he made a beeline for the punch bowl.

“As was yours,” she returned. “A tad bawdier than the ladies might have expected, but I suppose you have been surrounded by military men long enough that it all seems commonplace.”

“My apologies, Miss Schuyler, if a humble soldier’s humor offends. Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, at your service.” He very properly kissed the hand she extended to him.

“I know of your father, of course.”

“Of course,” said Laurens, with the barest hint of bitterness that a lesser conversationalist would have overlooked.

“I read about the battalion you're attempting to raise,” Angelica offered. “I think it a fine idea.”

“You and Alexander make two. My father calls it lunacy, and the South Carolina House of Representatives certainly agrees with him.”

At their mention of him, Alexander appeared to look over at the pair of them, meeting their eyes for just a moment, before returning to his conversation with Lafayette and General Schuyler. Angelica lifted her glass to him, the slightest movement of her wrist.

Laurens, she noted, had the queerest look in his eyes as he stared after them. _He has the look of a schoolboy mooning after the milkmaid,_ she thought.

“You’re married, then, Mr. Laurens?”

Laurens, startled out of his reverie, nearly choked on his punch. “Excuse me?”

Angelica hid a wry smile behind her wineglass. “She’s been in England this whole time, hasn't she? Pregnant?”

“Ah, a daughter,” Laurens murmured, flushing pink. “I confess you have me at a disadvantage, Miss Schuyler. How did you…?”

“It’s astonishing how little one can hide from those with the right connections and a dedicated interest in knowing as much as possible.” Angelica narrowed her eyes consideringly. “Alexander has no idea, does he?”

“He—no. I don't speak of her often. It never came up.”

“All those lonely nights in the barracks, just the two of you…” she prompted lightly. “Has Alexander never spoken of my sister, then, either?”

Laurens gave a small smile. “He can hardly resist praising her numerous charms at every opportunity, I assure you. Between him and Gilbert, yammering on about his beloved Adrienne, I never get a word in edgewise.”

“You suppose he’d think less of you,” she observed.

“For Martha?”

“For leaving your child in London, when you could have her safely ensconced in your father’s house instead.”

“The Atlantic crossing is uncommonly perilous these years, as I'm confident you know. A hostile ocean teeming with redcoats is no place for a child.”

“And I'm confident you know Alexander would hardly see it that way, given the circumstances of his arrival in New York.” At Laurens’s sharp glance, she added, “Of course I know of it. He has no secrets from my sister, and she has none from me.”

This drew an even more severe look from the man. _Curious,_ Angelica mused.

Laurens coughed. “You've given me much to think upon, Miss Schuyler.”

“I'm glad of it. He has an orphan’s obsession with family, our Alexander.”

“One would think you, rather than your sister, the new Mrs. Hamilton, given how well you seem to know my dear friend’s mind,” Laurens retorted.

Angelica thought she recovered well, all things considered. “I take an interest in my sister’s welfare. And he is now family; I make it my business to know him.” Before the man could further probe her heart, Angelica offered her hand. “Shall we dance, Mr. Laurens? I trust you are familiar with the steps.”

“I had a childhood of dance instruction. Much, I suspect, like you.” As the quartet started up a new number, he placed the proffered hand lightly on his arm.

The pair of them floated easily towards the bride, who was now dancing with her father. “What a dashing pair you make!” Eliza called gaily to her sister, her pale cheeks flushed with wine and happiness.

“Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, is it?” said General Schuyler. “Of the South Carolina Laurenses?”

“He’s married, papa,” Angelica retorted, to Eliza’s delighted laughter.

As they drifted past the bride, Angelica felt the tension in Laurens’s shoulder under her palm. “Is it really such a secret, now?” she murmured, leaning close to his ear. “Marriage is a lovely thing.”

“ _Love_ is a lovely thing, Miss Schuyler,” said Laurens, as the music swelled. “Wouldn't you agree?”

“Of course.” Angelica followed his gaze toward Alexander, who was laughing with Mulligan, the tailor and rumored informant. “My sister fell for Alexander the moment she laid eyes on him.”

“That does happen astonishingly often where he’s concerned.”

“You sound jealous,” Angelica teased, dropping into a perfect curtsy as the number ended. “You should have no need for others’ attentions now.”

Laurens bowed over her hand, looking more melancholy than chastised. “Have you heard the story about Lady Washington’s tomcat?”

“Oh, yes. Eliza first heard it from me.”

“Should you repeat such tales to his wife?”

“If the tales are true, then certainly.”

“So his new bride might know who she married? That he was always a rake, and she should endeavor to keep ahold of him?”

“So Eliza might know that of all those he could have pursued, Alexander chose _her_ ,” Angelica replied fiercely. “That she is the best of us.”

“She must be.” Laurens’s expression softened minutely. “She seems lovely.”

“Lovely, yes. And loyal, and compassionate, and wholly _good_. When Alexander is celebrated in the history books amongst the founders of this new country, Eliza will have earned her place beside him as a mother of a nation.”

“The war is just begun, and yet you have such faith in us.” Laurens patted the pommel of his saber. “Such faith in _him_.”

“In _her_ ,” Angelica corrected sweetly.

Before Laurens could respond, Eliza approached them, wineglass in hand. “You've been monopolizing Mr. Laurens’s attentions entirely,” she exclaimed, glancing between the pair. “Are you certain he’s married?”

“Quite certain,” said Angelica, with some amusement.

“Only, my Alexander never mentioned a wife, and he speaks of you constantly.”

Laurens grinned. “Does he?”

Angelica would have laughed at the unsubtle eagerness in the man’s voice, had Eliza not laid a bold hand on Laurens's arm, ignoring his tone completely. “Indeed he does. His very best friend in all the Continental Army. Will you dance with me, Mr. Laurens?”

“I would be honored, Mrs. Hamilton,” he replied, bending low enough over her hand to obscure his face.

“And Angelica, do go to Alexander. He ought to dance with my maid of honor at least once tonight.”

 _Oh, Eliza._ Angelica’s broad smile did not falter as she went to seek out the bridegroom. _What you never know will never hurt you._

“Angelica!” Alexander said, gesturing expansively with a wineglass. “You are a vision tonight.”

“All the Schuyler sisters decked out in our finery must be a rare sight for a soldier, brother.”

“Indeed,” he said, not missing a beat. He set his glass down on a nearby table. “I was telling Peggy that it will be a misery to return to our dreary winter encampment after so lovely a night as this, and in such dazzling company.”

“Save your compliments for your wife, Alexander. I am not so easily charmed.” Angelica said this with a smile, which did not dull the sting of the lie on her tongue.

“I have compliments to spare,” he retorted, “having spent months in the field with nary a lady to admire. But if you will not accept my praise, would you at least care to dance?”

Angelica gave him her hand. She did not react to the sudden heat of his palm against her waist, palpable even through the layers of her gown. Alexander fixed her with his usual piercing gaze; he was not as tall as his friend Laurens, and with the added height of her dancing shoes, she was almost level with him.

“My sister cuts a fine figure with the best man, over there,” she commented with studied carelessness as they began to move.

Alexander's eye flicked towards the other pair. “They have more years of formal dance instruction between them,” he replied, “though the way John tells it, I was spared a rather tedious endeavor. You see,” he said, spinning her out, “we are just fine without it.”

“Where did _you_ learn to dance? As a student at King’s College?”

“Hardly. I applied all of my efforts to my studies, or I wouldn't have graduated in record time.” He chuckled, and then leaned toward her, as though imparting a great secret. “If you must know, it was Laurens who taught me to dance. We couldn't have me look the fool at my own wedding, treading all over Eliza’s poor feet.”

Angelica laughed as she picture the two of them dancing in some ramshackle tent in a muddy field, Alexander stumbling over John Laurens's feet. “Did General Washington ever happen upon this unusual exercise?”

She thought she could make out the faintest flush on Alexander’s cheek as he replied, “No, thank heavens. But the Marquis has, and takes great pleasure in recounting how amusingly John danced the lady’s part… and how terribly I initially danced any part at all.”

“At the risk of stroking an ego that doesn't need it, I daresay you're much improved from those early days.”

“Stroking is never necessary but always appreciated,” Alexander replied, eyes gleaming.

It was Angelica’s turn to blush. “And that is why it is unnecessary. You appreciate it entirely too much—and from all quarters, apparently indiscriminately.”

Alexander nearly tripped over the final bars of the song, but caught himself, turning the aborted motion into an unfairly elegant bow. He lifted Angelica’s hand, dropping a gentlemanly kiss on her knuckles before releasing it into her possession. “I assure you,” he murmured, “I value such favors in strict proportion to my esteem for the bestower.”

“Then you should derive satisfaction enough from my sister’s generous admiration that you ought never seek praise from any others.”

“My dear Angelica, I am married, not blind. Surely there is little harm in admiring the view.” He grinned wolfishly at her and arched an eyebrow, a tiny motion far more intimate than the preceding several minutes Angelica had spent in his arms.

“There are words for men like you.”

“And I should like to hear them all from you.” Alexander had maneuvered them in front of a tray of wine glasses; he offered one to Angelica, holding it aloft as if to toast her. “Write to me,” he implored, as she lifted the glass to her lips. “I look forward to your opinions on the founding of our nation.”

“Should you not write to Eliza?” Angelica replied, though she did not conceal her pleasure at being consulted on political matters.

“I do. I write her more letters—love letters, all—than she writes me. She is not half so bad as John, though,” he added thoughtfully. “He can hardly be bothered to correspond, no matter how frequent my own messages. You, however, are a woman of letters,” he proclaimed, grasping Angelica enthusiastically by the arm. “You can be relied upon to write faithfully.”

 _What harm is there in political theory between siblings?_ she told herself, every nerve in her body aware of Alexander’s uncommonly warm hand. She lifted her chin and smiled, the cutting curve of the lip that made lesser men think she was too clever by half. “Indeed, brother, I look forward to a fruitful correspondence. I have thoughts on the rights of women in these states, and I have thoughts on Laurens’s thoughts on abolition.”

Alexander was not unaffected, she could tell, as he released her. “I’m certain the latter thoughts could be addressed to him directly.”

 _Ah,_ she thought, _what power I have in my hands, in this moment._ She glanced back over her shoulder at Laurens, who was now engaged in conversation with a knot of young officers and Van Rensselaer cousins, looking perfectly at ease.

She took a breath, a sip of wine, a moment.

She turned back to meet Alexander’s eyes with a smile. “I doubt he would be half so receptive to my thoughts as to yours,” Angelica said at last, voice gentle with insinuation.

There was color in Alexander’s cheeks as he replied, “Laurens is as committed to the cause as anyone, myself and Burr included.”

“Burr,” she scoffed, sipping at her wine. “That rake. I can hardly imagine him committing to anything.”

That, at least, made Alexander laugh. “Well, you needn’t speak to _him_ , on abolition or any other subject. He promised to make every effort to attend tonight, but I have yet to see him at all.”

“Alas,” Angelica exclaimed, not sounding very sorry at all, “the efforts of men are too often insufficient to their intentions.”

Alexander produced a wine glass of his own; he touched the lip of his to hers. “Nobody could lay the charge of insufficient effort at my feet—I am sure of it.”

“And I’m sure you are.” Angelica eyed the movement of his throat as he drank deep. “I shall await Eliza’s report before rendering judgment.”

He choked, a thread of champagne snaking its way from the corner of his mouth. Angelica had the absurd urge to offer him her handkerchief, but refrained as he wiped a finger along his jawline and brought it to his lips. “Is that the way of sisters, then?” he asked, holding her gaze. “Have I unwittingly invited all of you into my affairs?”

“You should be so fortunate.” Angelica could feel the blush creeping up her neck, but thought she had imbibed a plausible amount of wine to excuse it. “No, brother—you shall receive my letters, and Peggy’s, should she choose to correspond.”

“I shall treasure them,” he said with a slight, perfectly correct bow. “I look forward to intelligent conversation about the future, when so much of my work is desperate struggle in the present.”

Angelica, looking over Alexander’s shoulder, saw John Laurens making his way toward them. “You may share my thoughts with your tent-mate, of course. Amongst your other negotiations.”

Before Alexander could respond, Laurens clapped him on the shoulder from behind; startled, Alexander spilled the rest of his champagne onto his sleeve. “Come, my good man,” said Laurens a tad too loudly, casting a glance toward Angelica. “You wouldn’t believe who arrived just now. Aaron Burr!”

Alexander allowed himself to be led away by the arm, toward the gaggle of young men congregated near the entrance. Angelica watched them go.

The crowd was thinning as guests began to make their farewells. Angelica looked back to where Eliza was laughing with Peggy, with some of their cousins and neighbors; Eliza was distributing little pastries wrapped in extra bits of waxed paper to the younger girls, saying, “We have so many left over; take some home for your grandmother, your baby brother, your maidservant.” Angelica watched her sister press tiny gifts into the hands of her guests, her veil slightly askew on her dark head. Peggy twirled the stem of a champagne flute between her long fingers, charming eligible young men with Eliza’s grace and manners, with the beginnings of Angelica’s wit. _My sisters,_ thought Angelica, _are beautiful._

She drank down the last of her wine. _Tonight, in this house, there is no war, no deadly invading army._

Angelica went to her sisters.

“Peggy, perhaps you could dole out the remainder of this basket?” she suggested. “Eliza, shall we to your marital chamber?”

Eliza blushed to the roots of her hair. “Angelica!” she hissed. They glanced over to where the bridegroom was speaking with the lately arrived Burr. (“Can you believe he invited Burr?” Peggy whispered, giggling.)

“Come, Eliza,” said Angelica. “The night is almost over for all of your guests. You needn’t stay to the end, as the reception appears to have devolved into a downtown tavern.”

Eliza laughed, and Peggy willingly accepted the basket of pastries, summoning their mother’s best red-lipped smile. As Angelica and Eliza made their way through the ballroom’s wide double doors, Eliza’s eyes searched out Alexander’s; the sudden bloom on her cheeks told her sister that she’d found what she sought.

Angelica turned her head. Like Lot’s wife on the edge of fire and ruin, she looked back.

Alexander, eyes bright in the candlelit ballroom, gazed in her—in her sister’s—direction. He raised a glass in acknowledgement, in salute, in farewell.

Angelica set her glass down. She breathed deep, took her sister’s hand in hers, and they walked out into the rest of their lives, together.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic in this fandom. (Please let me know what you think!)


End file.
